


Six Feet Under Water

by zaphodsgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Dean/Cas Reverse Bang, Dreams and Nightmares, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Season/Series 14
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-03-07 10:53:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18871747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaphodsgirl/pseuds/zaphodsgirl
Summary: This story is inspired by the amazing art ofdragonpressgraphics, accompanied by this prompt:Can be canon or AU (though Canon preferred - see below why) where Cas almost drowns and either Dean witnessed it or rescues him - would love a fic where Cas then has to deal with fear of drowning afterwards - maybe Dean too has nightmares about Cas drowning because of the same experience (bonus if references are made to season 6/7 where Cas walked into the water because of the Leviathans). Loads of angst more than okay as long as story has happy ending





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am so fortunate to have picked a wonderful artist to work with yet again this round of the RB! I was so inspired by this piece and had the best time working with Nikki, who was so supportive about where I took the story and just a wonderful person to talk to throughout the entire process. I hope we have the opportunity to work together again in the future because she is amazing! You can find a direct link to shower the art with love [HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19111339), and you can also find her writing blog [HERE](https://pherryt.tumblr.com/).
> 
>  
> 
> Lots of love to my steadfast beta, [superhoney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/superhoney), who always steers me 'write'. 
> 
> Special thanks to [Diamond](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Diamond/pseuds/A_Diamond), who was so supportive of me writing this story and gave me the idea for how it should end. 
> 
> As always, nothing I write would exist without my ride or die gang in the Thuper Thecret Chat.
> 
> Hugs and kisses to Jojo, the GOAT.
> 
> Title take from "The Little Things Give You Away" by Linkin Park

"Are we ready?"

"As ready as we ever are."

"Which is to say, not nearly as ready as we should be."

"And how much more preparation do we actually need, Cas? This isn't a covert ops level situation."

"I just think we need to be as cautious as possible."

"Yeah, Dean. We've never fought one of these before, none of us know what to expect." Dean sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with the hand that isn't holding a silver knife, but Sam continues undeterred. "Look, all the lorelei lore..."

"Say that three times fast."

"...says that all she has to do is hold your gaze to hypnotize you, and you have a tendency to get, uh, pulled in by an intense gaze."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Cas has turned away from the brothers and their bickering at this point, squinting out over the lake, but he can almost feel Sam's eyes on his back in answer to Dean's question. He resolves to pretend he didn't hear.

"Can we just get this over with, please? The sooner I stab this thing in the heart the sooner I can get into dry clothes and on the road."

***

"Dean!" He screams, knowing it's useless, knowing that the raging storm around them muffles his words. Dean is mesmerized by the creature at the center of the swirling lake, and Cas wonders briefly what Dean sees when he looks at it, what beautiful woman’s visage has him so transfixed that he's wading slowly to his death. 

"No," Cas mutters under his breath, meeting Sam's eyes briefly across the lake before he leaps. 

He uses his grace to propel himself through the turbulent water, and manages to reach the lorelei before it realizes it's been flanked. He wraps his arms around it as it screeches at him, closing his eyes and gripping the hilt of his knife as hard as he can. The lorelei flails about desperately, dragging them back beneath the surface, twisting every way it can to get out of his grip. His trenchcoat billows out as they sink into the dark, down and down, the light above getting dimmer as the sounds of the storm fade. They have not yet reached bottom when he finally buries the silver blade in its chest, its death wail muffled by the encroaching deep. As he releases the monster to its watery grave he thinks he hears other, muffled cries before he closes his eyes in relief that, once again, Dean Winchester is saved.

***

"Come on, come on, get the door!"

Cas is being jostled around somehow, but his limbs feel heavy and his chest, his chest _hurts_. He wants to stop moving, to just lie down, and he tries to open his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. 

"Hang on, let me get the other side..."

"No, I'll get in and slide across, make sure his feet are in and shut the door."

He's being dragged, and he manages to clutch something in his hand but it's wet, unpleasant, and he releases it when he realizes he's no longer moving. Something damp and cold is beneath his head, and there's a heavy weight across his chest, but he's so relieved at the blissful stillness that he drifts out of consciousness.

"Cas!"

The voice calling his name is familiar, as is the guttural roar that comes after it, but he's too tired to place them right now. So tired. He can taste blood on his lips and wonders idly if it's his before he passes out.

***

"Hey, hey, Cas, can you hear me?"

Someone is cupping his chin, shaking his skull gently, but it still makes his brain rattle and he manages to bring his arm up to slap the hand away.

"Okay, if you can reach out to hit me you can work with me a little here, come on, man. Sit up, I'll help you." 

Cas blinks a few times, trying to orient himself as he’s pushed into a sitting position, squinting at the back of a car seat before realizing he's in the Impala and the door beside him is opening. 

"Hey," a voice says, and he turns to see Sam crouching beside the door. "Come on, let me help you out, here." He's pulling Castiel's arm over his shoulders, being firm but gentle. "Just put your leg out, you're okay." Cas manages to follow directions, feeling himself being pulled upright and away from the car, and then someone is ducking under his arm on the other side. 

"Alright, soldier, march," says a gruff voice from his right, and Castiel sighs in relief.

"Dean. Are you alright?" His voice is raspier than normal, and his head is pounding. Had Dean been in the back seat with him? 

"Jesus, Cas, yeah, I'm fine. Walk with us now, come on."

He tries, but it's more like shuffling, pulling one leg after another as the Winchester brothers practically carry him through the bunker. It feels like ages before they reach their final destination, and Cas is so grateful to sink onto the soft surface of his bed that he promptly passes out again. 

*******

**__** _It's like the Empty, but his movements are sluggish and uncoordinated._

_He opens his mouth to call out, but instead the words are pushed back into his throat as the water invades, filling his nose and mouth with bubbles as he screams into the darkness._

_His coat is tangled in his limbs, and he flails about, shrugging it off until it floats away. He claws at the water, finding no purchase, looking frantically all around him for just a pinprick of light, a direction to move towards._

_Then the clawing is inside him. It wants to get out, it wants to be released into the water...and when he opens his mouth again an even greater blackness pours out of it._

_The Leviathan are loose upon the world._

***

Cas draws in a lungful of air so forcefully as he jolts awake that he starts coughing, hard enough to make his eyes water. When he can finally breathe again he takes stock of himself. His lids and limbs are heavy, and his throat and chest hurt -- though that could be from the coughing -- and he's freezing even though he seems to be dry now. 

"...nearly got his stupid ass _killed_."

"For you. Again."

"I didn't ask him to!"

"When are you going to learn that Cas doesn't wait to be asked when it comes to saving people he loves? Especially where you're concerned!"

The yelling stops but he can hear them breathing, each gasp of air heavy as if from exertion, and when they start talking again it's in a low murmur that even his angelic hearing can't make out. He manages to drag his eyelids open, knowing immediately that he's in his bedroom at the bunker from the pattern of cracks in the ceiling. Cracks he's studied in depth during hundreds of nights that he didn't need to sleep, lying on his bed and listening to the building around him breathe. Tuning his celestial hearing to pick out certain things, the supersonic noise of humanity all around him, then distilling it all to just one sound. A single heartbeat. 

His grace feels depleted, and he can't draw on it enough to heal the ache in all his limbs. He tries to sit up before realizing that he's in a cocoon that seems to be made of every blanket that exists in the bunker. He's only managed to work one arm out of it when a head pops in through the open bedroom door.

"Castiel," says a new voice, and Jack's beaming face pokes into the room. "You're awake! I'm so glad. Wait here, I'll tell Dean." He's gone again before Cas can even speak, and so he lets his head drop to the mattress until the door creaks open again. 

Not Dean. Sam, bearing a thermometer and a cautious expression.

"Hey Cas," he says as he approaches the bed. 

"How long?" he manages to croak out, and his voice is as scratchy as his throat feels.

"The lorelei was yesterday. We got back last night, you've been out since then. It's late in the morning, now. Can I?" He raises an eyebrow and the thermometer at the same time, and Cas just nods, thinking it best to talk as little as possible.

Sam seems relieved as he places the end under Cas's tongue, then stares at his watch to avoid making eye contact until the device beeps. 

"Oh, yeah, forgot about the built in timer," Sam says with a bashful look, and Cas allows him to pretend. "Okay, you're at a hundred and one, which I'm not thrilled with, but we're not in panic territory yet."

"Dean okay?" Cas manages to croak, unable to help himself. Sam clenches his jaw, staring at the thermometer between his fingers like it has the answer, then nods.

"Yeah. He's in the kitchen. He's worried you're going to come down with pneumonia, and frankly so am I. You ingested a lot of water, Cas, we thought..." He looks away, that muscle in his jaw working overtime. "I think you may have to recover the old fashioned way. That one took a lot out of you." He frowns as Cas shivers all over. "Why did you do that?" 

Cas closes his eyes, turning his face away. "You know why." 

He's not sure how long Sam stands there, but he's nearly drifted off again when he hears the soft reply.

"Yeah. I know."

Cas shivers again just as the door clicks shut.

***

He doesn't sleep so much as drift, not wanting to dream again, not wanting to revisit whatever is waiting in his subconscious. This is the part of humanity he hated the most, before: the hidden workings of the mind, the way it can put a trauma away during waking hours so that you can function, only to wait for the defenseless hours to bring it back out, turning it over and over like a shiny, sharp object it wants to study. He's not sure how much time has passed when the door opens again, and he has to suppress a relieved sigh when he sees who it is.

Dean stands indecisive for a moment, one hand on the doorknob and another clutching a large thermos, before he finally enters the room and closes the door behind him. Closes, but doesn't shut completely, as though he doesn't plan to stay. 

"Hello, Dean," he rasps out, trying to sit up, frustrated with how he seems to still be swaddled like an infant. Dean moves swiftly to the side of the bed, putting down the thermos and helping Cas to sit up and free his upper body from the blankets. "Thanks," Cas says in relief as he props himself against the headboard, realizing for the first time that he's wearing a sweatshirt that looks familiar. Crew neck, heather grey and frayed on the ends of the sleeves. He's seen Dean wearing it around the bunker in the winter, when cold drafts move through the halls. He knows it's fraying all around the bottom hem as well, yet Dean never gets rid of it. Cas clasps the front of it in his hand, rubbing the material between his fingers. It's as soft as he imagined it would be in a hundred fantasies, and he clears his throat as he lets go of it and blinks up at Dean. 

"I think your grace is probably pretty low right now," Dean mutters without looking at him, instead making a show of unscrewing the cap and handing the open thermos to Cas. "You'll need food to fight off what's sure to develop into something nasty, but I thought your throat might be sore, too." Cas sniffs at the steam coming out of the container. "It's bone broth. It's good for you."

"There's no scientific evidence to suggest..." he starts, but bites his lip. "Where did you get bone broth around here?"

"I didn't get it, I made it. Your job is to drink it and stop asking dumb questions." Cas isn't fooled by his gruff demeanor, and he feels bad for making Dean worry. 

"I'm sorry." They both know he's not talking about the questions. 

"Cas, you gotta stop..." Dean begins, then lets out an exasperated sigh. He puts his hands on his hips, staring at his feet as he clenches his jaw, and Cas tries not to stare at the muscle working in his cheek. The facial muscles of the Winchester brothers are the kind of tell that poker players look for, a sign that they’re thinking about more than they’ll say. "Just drink the broth, okay? Sam'll keep monitoring your fever." 

Cas just nods, looking down at the soup’s curling steam until Dean leaves again, this time pulling the door completely shut behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

The last long stretch of sleep Dean had was the morning before they fought the lorelei, six solid hours in a strange motel bed. He'd awakened early that day to find Cas sitting at the small table by the window, a white paper bag and two large mugs of steaming black coffee sitting in front of him, a breakfast he’d silently procured as they slept. Dean had just barely caught the movement of his head as he turned to stare into the still dark parking lot, as though he hadn't been watching the brothers sleep. Dean let him pretend. He always does. 

Twelve hours later their positions are reversed as Dean sits in a room in the bunker, fretting over the way Cas is twitching in his sleep, his skin clammy and his breathing uneven. He asks Sam to grab some dry clothes from his room, and by the time his brother returns he has Cas stripped of his wet things and dried off. He dresses Cas in his own sleep pants and favorite sweatshirt, rubbing at his wet hair with a towel before he maneuvers him under the blankets. Jack returns from the mission Sam had given him, arms piled high with blankets, and Sam gives Dean such a look as he wraps Cas tightly in all of them. 

"Would you like me hold him upright so you can swaddle him properly?"

"Shut up, Sam."

"Dean, you should go get some sleep. There's nothing you can do for him right now." 

"I'll be okay. I just want to make sure he doesn't get worse." He doesn't even look at his brother, lest his face give too much away. 

Sam simply nods, clapping him on the shoulder before leaving the room, and when the door shuts behind him Dean puts his face in his hands, listening to Cas's ragged breathing. He doesn't move until he thinks Cas is finally waking up, and it's only then he realizes that hours have passed. 

Dean goes into the kitchen to make soup, because that's what you do when your friend is sick and you aren't a doctor. When you're nothing but a helpless human without the ability to heal with a touch. When you're the reason your friend is in this predicament in the first place. You make soup, and hope they get better. 

He's halfway through roasting a chicken by the time Sam wanders into the kitchen, and a glance at the clock tells him it’s still early morning. 

"Have you slept all?" It's not unexpected, that this is the first question Sam asks, but it still makes Dean clench his teeth. 

"I'm fine, Sam."

"What are you...is that an Instant Pot?"

"You have a problem with convenience?"

"No! I just didn't know we had one." 

" _We_ don't. I do. You keep your hands off, that chicken still has fifteen minutes to go."

"You're making chicken soup?" Sam says in a voice that's incredulous and amused, and Dean shakes his head. 

"No, I'm going to make bone broth. It'll be easier for him to swallow."

"Bone broth."

"Yeah?"

"Bone. Broth." Dean purposefully doesn't look at Sam, though he can hear the exasperated huff as he exhales through his nose. 

"Are we ever going to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?" The deflection is automatic, but his brother isn’t fooled. 

"You know damn well what!" Sam yells, and Dean is actually shocked by the raised tone of his voice, by the livid anger on his face. "You can lie to yourself all you want, Dean, but you can't lie to me! Your macho front is so thin it’s a set of decorative sheer curtains."

“Christ, how much HGTV have you been watching?”

“ _Dean.”_

"Fuck, Sam," he says, placing his palms on the counter and hanging his head. "I don't know what I'm going to do with him. I really don't. He nearly got his stupid ass _killed_."

"For you. Again."

"I didn't ask him to!" Dean whirls around to face his brother, but any more words die on his lips when he sees the concern there.

"When are you going to learn that Cas doesn't wait to be asked when it comes to saving people he loves? Especially where you're concerned!"

They stare at each other for a few minutes, breathing harshly. 

"Is everything alright?" Jack asks from the doorway, and Sam collects himself before he turns to the boy with a smile.

"Yeah, everything's fine. I'm sorry we woke you. Hey, could you go and check on Cas for us? Let us know if he's still sleeping okay?"

Jack nods, eager to be helpful, and as he disappears from the kitchen Sam turns back to Dean. He meets his eyes, the look on his face somber, and he speaks in a measured tone. 

"I watched your face in the mirror the entire drive back, Dean. I saw the careful way you held his head on your lap, stroking his hair, looking for all the world like you had a thousand things you wanted to tell him, and afraid it was too late. Every time something like this happens, you can't hide the anguish on your face. You’ve been given a second chance with him, and a third, and a fourth, and on and on and on. For as much as you suffer over each missed opportunity, don't you think it's time you had _something_ worth suffering for?"

Dean sits down heavily, crossing his arms on the table. "I just don't know _how_ , Sam. Not after all this time. This thing between me and Cas...it's just been there for so long that I don't even know how to acknowledge it anymore, much less broach the subject. Sometimes I'm not even sure it's there."

"Oh, it's there. Everyone that's ever been around the two of you knows it's there. I just don't know why you won't let yourself have it, when you get like this every time you nearly lose it."

"You can't really lose something you don't have, Sammy."

"That's bullshit, and we both know it." High-pitched beeping interrupts from the counter, and Dean pushes himself up from the table with a sigh, edging past his brother to push the button. "Why are you so messed up about this one, Dean? Cas has suffered far worse before. He barely even has a scratch on him this time."

Dean taps the counter idly with his fingers, mulling it over, trying to put his fractured thoughts into words. He closes his eyes, takes himself back to that moment at the lake, when he'd been entranced by the lorelei's gaze only to have it ripped away. How he realized that it had been distracted by Cas, struggling with it in the water, how the lorelei's fury had ripped the skies open above them to churn the lake water like a turbulent sea. Castiel, assailed by water above and below, once again and always at the center of everything. 

"I couldn't see his coat anymore," Dean says in a soft voice. "It was the only thing that caught my eye as they struggled, and suddenly they were so far beneath the surface I couldn't make it out anymore. And I thought, 'I can't lose him like this again’, you know? ‘I can’t pick that trenchcoat up at the shore another time.’" He looks at Sam, who nods, and it fills Dean with such relief, knowing there are things Sam understands without him having to explain. "The Leviathan were an ancient, powerful force, too big for Cas to contain, but he slipped beneath the water and everything ended quietly. With a whisper, instead of a shout." He laughs awkwardly. "Then you have a monster clearly overcompensating for its insignificance with a big show, and all I could think was: this celestial being, once a soldier of god, that channeled the power of thousands of souls, is going to drown in a generic lake at the hands of a run of the mill bad guy like some common idiot. Because of _me_." 

"Yeah." Sam nods in agreement. "And it's never going to stop. He is never going to stop putting you first, putting your life before his. You keep telling him to knock it off and he never does! Don't you know why?"

"Yeah, I do, Sam, okay? I know how he feels." 

"Cas is awake!" Jack announces gleefully, poking his head back into the room, then disappearing just as quickly. Dean carelessly opens the vent in the lid, cursing as he burns himself a bit on the steam before he moves away.

"No, you don't," Sam says. "You think he does all these things because he cares about you, but that's not really it. Not all of it, anyway. He thinks you don't care about _him_ , Dean. Why shouldn't he keep throwing his life away for yours? He thinks you have everything to live for: your friends, your brother, your mission to save humanity. Cas has a mental list of all the things that make Dean Winchester necessary to the world, and he'll do everything to make sure you stay in it. But for him, the only thing worth living for... _is you_. Something he's not supposed to want, something he knows he'll never have."

"That's not..."

"True? Isn't it? It's been ten years, Dean. Nothing says your feelings are unrequited than not even having them acknowledged after a decade."

*******

Cas doesn't know if he has pneumonia, but there's a heaviness in his chest and a wracking cough that makes it hard for him to rest. He's always freezing despite the fact that he still has a fever in the triple digits, something Sam seems to be monitoring with some regularity, although Cas can't determine how much time is passing in between. He just exists in an uncomfortable daze, passing out between coughing fits and waking to consume the thermoses of broth that he keeps finding on his nightstand with little notes stuck to them that say 'Drink Me' like something out of Alice in Wonderland.

The sleep he gets brings no comfort, because there's an abyss behind his lids, greater than the darkness. The Empty that waits for him when all is finally said and done here on Earth, when the inevitable, final death takes him in its embrace. It is the thought woven into his waking hours and his dreaming ones: there is no Heaven for him to look forward to, no peaceful rest surrounded by the things he loved the most. No kite flying on an idle Tuesday afternoon, no cozy library with all the books he wants to read, no gardens or guinea pigs or happily ever afters with a loved one. No, for Castiel the only thing waiting is the vast nothingness of the Empty, like the body of black water that nearly consumed him several days ago. 

It was nothing like the first time he drowned, and it does give him a moment's pause that he actually has to differentiate between drownings. (An even greater pause to ponder that he's actually died half a dozen times, but in only three different ways, and what a pity it is to have come back from the dead six times and have so little variety about the way he got there.) The real difference is that drowning is the death that lingers far too long, that keeps you conscious enough to know what's happening to you right until the very end. At least when the Leviathan left him he had a moment of peace before the inevitable happened.

Then he was reborn beside the reservoir, naked and confused, not knowing who he was or what had happened to him. The terror he'd felt then was nothing compared to what had come before, but with a clean slate he'd had no way of knowing that. It seems trite now, thinking of how frightened he'd been at his lack of memory. He hadn't known what a blessing it was: there was no terror to process, no trauma to revisit in his sleep, no nightmares stealing away his breath and forcing him to sit up in bed, drenched in sweat and clawing at his own throat.

Once that memory returned to him he had greater things to deal with than his near death experience. So many other things working to fracture his mind. 

This time he has nothing else to focus on. The hours drift by as his nearly-human body tries to heal itself, and people come and go from the room: Sam with his thermometer, Jack with his bright smiles and eager questions, and Dean, who never speaks but Castiel knows is there nonetheless. He'll keep his eyes shut, afraid to face the anger he's sure to see on Dean's face as he watches Cas, sickly and broken and not good for anything at the moment. He can feel his weakened grace flare up just a bit in Dean's presence, like it's trying to reach out, and Cas is grateful that humans can't sense longing or want. 

He doesn't want Dean to see how fragile he is right now, as if he's just another life the Winchester brothers have to watch over, instead of the powerful angel that will do anything to protect them. How he's beginning to fear death, like a human. No, he needs Dean to look at him and always see a force that will stand between him and death, and right now he's too weak to put up that facade. When Castiel is far away he can feel the crest of Dean's longing like a high tide, and the way it subsides when he finally returns is all the proof he needs that Dean sees him as protection, regardless of terms like "family" and "brother.” He knows that there's no place for him in Dean's life if he can't be a shield, and he'd rather have any place than none at all.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean wakes with a start, looking at the clock on his bedside table and groaning. It’s after three in the morning, which means it's only been two hours since he last remembers looking at it. Another night of fractured sleep, over a dozen of them stacking up against one another like dominos. He throws back the covers and puts his bare feet on the floor, rubbing his hands through his hair to try and get the blood flowing, then pushing himself off the mattress and creeping into the hallway. 

At this time of night it's highly unlikely that any of the bunker's enormous cast of characters will spontaneously appear, but he still moves cautiously the short distance down the corridor to another closed door, placing his fingertips on it gently before pressing his ear against the wood. For the first few days that Cas was sick he would actually let himself in the room, spend some time watching him sleep, make sure he kept breathing even if it was harsh and ragged. It's been two weeks now and Cas is over the worst of it, but his grace is still largely depleted so he keeps to his room most of the time, resting. At least that's what he's told Jack, who passed the information to Sam, who told Dean with a raised eyebrow. 

It's not that Dean hasn't been thinking about everything Sam said. It's the _only_ thing on his mind now. He knows there are Things They Need to Talk About. But that doesn't change the fact that finding the words, or the right time and place, remains as impossible as it's ever been. Dean was waiting for Cas to get over the touch of pneumonia, now he's waiting for Cas to be his old self again, and all the time he's waiting he's waking up every few hours to creep to his door and listen for movement on the other side to reassure himself that Cas is still there.

This time he hears a rustling and tenses, thinking that Cas is awake. He hesitates a moment, knowing he should move away, but just before he backs off he hears a different noise. It's the sound of distress, and suddenly all his hesitation is gone and he's through the door before he can think better of it. 

Dean is surprised to find that all the lights are on in the room, even though they're not very bright, because nothing is in the bunker. His eyes are drawn to the bed as he pushes the door shut behind him. Cas has his hands twisted in the top sheet, clenching it to his chest like it's a life raft, curled into a fetal position on the bed. 

"Cas?" he whispers, as he approaches. "Hey, what's the matter?" Dean’s hand has barely touched him before Cas flails, shouting incoherently, and Dean ducks just in time to not get punched in the face. The angel flops onto his back, still asleep, face a mask of anguish, legs kicking in agitation. "Cas," he says as loudly as he dares, not wanting to alert the rest of the bunker to anything, leaning over the bed to grab Cas by the shoulders, shaking him a bit. "Wake up!"

Cas makes a pained sound but his eyes fly open, darting around the room in a panic before they finally stop on the face above him. Eyes like stormy skies, and suddenly filled with so much relief that Dean moves without thinking. He sits on the bed and pulls Cas into an embrace, stroking his back the way he used to do for Sam when he was a child, when he started to realize that the boogeymen his father fought were all too real. Dean feels the hard tension in Cas's body despite the way his arms hang limp at his sides, and he just keeps stroking his back until his labored breathing finally evens out. Cas's hands move to tentatively grip the back of Dean's shirt, and he seems to be relaxing one individual muscle at a time until he finally sags against Dean, boneless.

They sit there together for some time, not speaking. Dean thinks about all the times they've embraced in the past, each one a greeting or a goodbye. None of them were simply about comfort, about being. Now Dean can't seem to let go. 

Finally Cas pulls back, turning away to wipe his face, and Dean sighs as he scoots back a bit to give him some space. 

"I didn't know that you dreamed," he finally says, looking down at his hands. "I still can't get used to you sleeping."

"I'm sorry," Cas says, his voice hoarser than usual, rubbed raw with fractured sleep.

"Sorry for what? For sleeping?" 

"For being so weak."

"Cas," he starts, perplexed and confused. "You almost died, man. It's not weakness to recover from a near-death experience." 

"Right. Because angels should have those."

"You're not..."

"Much of an angel anymore, I know." 

"You're more than that, damn it. You always have been!" Cas just shakes his head, looking away. "You think you're somehow less because of what happened, or because your grace is depleted? You are so much better than those other dicks that called themselves your family."

"That's not what they would say."

"Of course not. None of them know what selflessness is. Their opinion doesn't mean shit to me or anyone else who matters."

"Selflessness," Cas repeats, looking at him before casting his gaze downward. "You're wrong, Dean. Everything I do is a selfish act."

"Bullshit. You throw yourself in harm's way constantly without any thought for your own well-being or safety."

"I..."

"No. You never ask for anything for yourself, you never put yourself first, ever. Don't give me whatever bullshit you were planning to argue just now."

Cas sighs. "Thank you for waking me. That dream was unpleasant." It sounds like a dismissal, but Dean refuses to take the hint.

"What was it? Was it the lorelei?"

He thinks Cas won't answer him, but he sits quietly, just waiting. 

"It was a couple of things jumbled together, I think. The lake and the lorelei, but then they morph somehow into the reservoir. You know, the..." He can't seem to go on.

"The leviathan," Dean whispers, and Cas shivers a bit. "I remember."

"They keep getting mixed up in my subconscious, and blending with that other place. The one I was in before Jack brought me back." Dean appreciates the way Cas phrases that, instead of saying _the place I went to after I died_. "It's like I'm trapped in all them, but they all morph into the same one, and I can't get out of it." He glances up at Dean. "Is this how it feels for humans?"

"How what feels?"

"The fear of dying."

"I honestly don't know."

"Because you don't fear death."

"Of course I do. Billie scares the shit out of me."

"Dean."

"Sorry, sorry." He puts his hands up in a placating gesture. "It seemed like we needed some levity."

Cas is quiet for a while, and Dean starts wondering if he's just politely waiting for him to leave before he finally speaks again.

"You don't have to stay. I can try and go back to sleep by myself."

Dean starts to nod, to tense his leg muscles to push off the bed, but changes course before he actually moves. "I'd like to stay, if you'll let me."

Cas looks at him, tilting his head in that way he does when he's trying to puzzle out some human interaction. "Why?"

"Cas," he says, embarrassed but determined, "you watched over me for such a long time. Don't you ever think that I might like to return the favor?" He holds his breath, waiting for Cas to process what he's said. 

Cas finally nods, and though he doesn't smile the expression on his face makes it seem as though he does. He wiggles back underneath the covers, and Dean pulls them up to his chest as though he's tucking a child into bed. 

"Are you going to just sit there?" Cas asks. 

"Well, once you drift off I'll move to the chair so you're not crowded."

"What if I want to be crowded?" Cas looks away as though he wishes he hadn't said it, and Dean hesitates for a moment before he stands, catching the flicker of disappointment that crosses Cas's face.

"Budge over a bit," he says, lifting up the sheet on one side and crawling beneath it. Cas doesn't move for a moment, then finally scooches over, and Dean pulls the blanket back over both of them. He turns on his side, propping his head on one arm and keeping the other draped across his hip, studying Cas's profile. Cas stares at the ceiling, unmoving, gripping the top of the sheet so hard his knuckles are white, and for a moment Dean thinks he misread the entire situation. 

"Would you rather I left?" Dean manages to keep his disappointment from coloring his tone, relieved when Cas shakes his head slowly. "Then close your eyes and go back to sleep."

Cas does as he's told, and Dean watches quietly as his hands eventually fall lax at his sides, his body sinking into the mattress as his breathing slows. Dean reaches over and takes one of those hands in his, cradling it lightly, fingertips brushing against the wrist. He presses slightly on the pulse point, feeling the steady beat of a heart against the pads of his fingers, the reassurance of life next to him. It's not until some time has passed, when Cas's eyes start moving rapidly beneath his lids, that Dean finally closes his own and lets sleep wash over him. 

*******

Some nights Cas will wake and find Dean sitting in the chair in the corner, perhaps reading a book, or dozing with his legs stretched out before him, crossed at the ankle. Other times he'll find Dean lying beside him, one hand in the space between them on the bed, and Cas will carefully slide his own hand beneath it before he tries to go back to sleep. He sleeps easier, knowing Dean is there, and though the nightmares don't disappear completely they aren't as powerful. It's as though Dean is a guardian angel himself, and his very presence in the room wards off the shadows that haunt Cas’s dreams. 

One night he opens his eyes to find Dean facing him, awake and studying Cas in the low light of the single bedside lamp. They are curled towards one another in the bed, not touching, like quotation marks around all the things they never say out loud. Cas has seen Dean's face this soft before, but only when he's sleeping, unguarded and at ease. Cas wonders if he’s still asleep, dreaming himself awake and for once far from the actual afterlife that waits for him. Were Castiel ever allowed a human death, a Heaven for himself, he thinks it would be like this: their bodies close to one another, relaxed and sleep warm, Dean's face full of a fondness Castiel has never seen in life. The contentment he feels in this moment is surely only a thing that can be manufactured by the subconscious.

So his lips part in surprise when Dean speaks.

"You're still sleeping a lot, Cas. Your grace isn't being replenished very quickly. Or at all, maybe." Dean reaches over, slowly, hesitantly, and strokes the stubbled line of his jaw. "Did you fall, Cas?"

 _Yes,_ he thinks, staring at the planes of Dean's face in the soft yellow light. _I began long ago and I've never stopped, even though I can feel myself burning all the way down, and will surely be consumed._

"Not on purpose," is what he says instead, and Dean closes his eyes for a moment before piercing Cas with his gaze anew.

"Why did you...no. Why _do_ you risk so much to save me?"

Cas rolls on his back, unable to meet the intensity in Dean's eyes even in the semi-darkness. "It's what I'm supposed to do."

"You could use some saving yourself, you know."

"I'm not as valuable to the greater good as you are. You and Sam. With all the mistakes I've made, all the wrongs I've done?" He shakes his head, gaze firmly on the ceiling. 

"So you think you don't deserve to be saved?"

"It's not fair to use my own words against me."

"Well, I've always fought dirty." 

"Why are you really here, Dean?" Cas says in defeat, not even turning to look at him. He's not upset when no response is forthcoming. It's no more than he expected, and he's sure that when he finally summons the courage to face Dean again he will find him feigning sleep rather than answer. 

"Don't you know that by now? Can't you sense it?" 

"What?"

"I know you can sense longing, Cas. Don't you know what it means? That it means I wish you were here?"

"Because you need me to help protect you and Sam." He pointedly keeps taking measured breaths, trying to project a calm he doesn't feel. When he reaches forty-two he feels Dean moving closer, edging his way across the mattress until their bodies are pressed together, then leaning to whisper in Cas's ear.

"It's because I want you." Cas swallows hard, thinking he misheard.

"You want me to be here?"

"No, I mean, yes, but..." Cas hears him breathe loudly through his nose, and then he yelps in surprise as Dean rolls on top of him, bracing himself on his elbows. "I _want_ you, Cas."

They stare at one another for a moment, and Cas wildly thinks again that this must be a dream; but the weight of Dean, the warmth of him where their bodies press up against one another, feels so very real. Either way, he does what feels right, and leans up to brush their lips together softly. Dean reciprocates more firmly, and Cas loses track of time as they trade tentative kisses in the dark.

*******

He finds himself looking out over the lake this time, taking in the placid calm of the water's surface, and he breathes a sigh of relief to find himself on the shore for once. Or on a dock, as seems to be the case once he takes stock of his surroundings. Evergreens line both sides of the shore as far as he can see, but there are no other signs of life, no other docks jutting out into the water. 

"I know this lake," he says, trying to place it when he feels a hand on the small of his back.

"You used to follow me here," Dean says, standing beside him. His hand moves to curl around a hip instead, pulling Cas closer, and he smiles softly as he gazes out over the lake. "This was my dream refuge, sitting at the end of this dock, fishing."

"Yes," Cas says, blushing a little. He came here far more times than Dean knows about, walking into his dreams as an invisible observer, trying to puzzle out what made Dean Winchester happy. At least until he realized such visits were inappropriate, and probably unwelcome. "I'm not sure why I'm dreaming it now, though."

They stare out at the water for a few minutes, leaning against one another, the silence comfortable between them. Dean moves, drawing his arm back to reach down and grab Castiel's hand. 

"Come on. It's time to face it."

"Face what?"

Dean tugs on his hand, grinning, gesturing with his head towards the lake, and Cas realizes they are both nude. The sun is warm on their skin, but he still feels a chill at the thought of entering the water. His hesitation gives Dean pause as well, and he turns to cup Cas's face in his hands, pressing their foreheads together.

"I won't let anything happen to you." 

"Okay."

Dean takes his hand again, and they leap off the dock together, splashing into the warm water. Cas has a single moment of panic as his head goes under, but Dean's hand is warm in his, pulling him towards the light. They break the surface together, laughing, and Cas wakes up.

He blinks at the sunlight peeking through the curtains, trying to orient himself, turning away from the light to look at his surroundings. He remembers where he is now, and he smiles for a moment before frowning at the emptiness beside him on the bed. 

"Hey, you're awake," Dean says as he enters the room, two mugs of coffee held in one hand as he closes the door with the other. "I'm gonna have to go to the store later, Donna will kill me if we drink all her coffee and don't replenish it."

They've been here for a few days, wanting to get used to their new status without any interference from the residents of the bunker. Dean had clapped Sam on the shoulder as they passed him on their way to the garage.

"Cas and I are going to talk about feelings. If the apocalypse comes, beep me. We'll be back in a few days."

“Yeah, sure thing, Buffy,” Sam called out after him.

Cas had glanced back over his shoulder to catch the smug smile on Sam's face, but then he caught Cas's eye and gave him two thumbs-up. 

There hasn’t been much discussion, truth be told, but Dean Winchester has always been more demonstrative than talkative. Which is why Cas can read so much in this simple gesture: the careful way Dean disentangles one of the handles from his grip, holding it out for Cas to grasp as he sits up in bed, the liquid still steaming as Dean sits on the side of the bed and places his free hand in Cas's lap as he takes a sip. That Dean woke before him, carefully slipping out of the bed they were sharing to not only brew fresh coffee but carry it gingerly up the stairs of the cabin to where Cas slept, intending to surprise him. The way he sits close to him now, unabashedly sharing his space, touching for no reason other than that he wants to. 

Later that morning, Dean curls up behind him in the bed, breathing warm puffs of air onto the back of his neck as he dozes. Castiel stares out the window at the expanse of blue sky, thinking about his former home. He remembers the first time he'd heard a human describe something as "heaven on earth", and he'd scoffed at the arrogant nature of humans, at the way they assumed anything to be as great as God's creation. Now, though, wrapped in Dean's arms, warm and safe and loved, he thinks he knows exactly what it means. 


End file.
